


The Nightmare Rides On Through

by liggytheauthoress



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-06 22:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liggytheauthoress/pseuds/liggytheauthoress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There was no way he’d be sleeping again tonight. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Murphy being thrown backwards by the bullet being sent through his brain..."</p>
<p>When Connor starts having nightmares, there's only one thing that keeps them at bay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nightmare Rides On Through

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Nightmare" by Bob Welch.

The nightmares didn’t start right away. The night in the holding cell, and the first few after that, Connor had been fine. He figured it was because he’d been too exhausted to really dwell on what had happened with Checkov - at the end of the day, he and Murphy basically just crashed and slept straight through the night without dreaming at all.

But after the night at Yakavetta’s, the night Rocco died and the boys were reunited with their father, that changed.

The twins had gone back to their old flat to sleep. They’d extended an invitation to Da, but he’d declined, saying he had business elsewhere. They’d had a few drinks, smoked a couple of cigarettes, and tended to their injuries - Murphy almost punched Connor for being such a mother hen about his wrist - before collapsing onto their mattresses. Connor was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

 

_He was kneeling over the toilet again, arms cuffed in front of him, guns pointed at his and Murphy’s heads. And Checkov was leaning over him, snarling into his ear as he informed Connor of his plans. And then they were taking Murphy away, taking him away from Connor, taking him away to kill him, and Connor, no matter how he struggled and pulled and thrashed, couldn’t get free._

_A gunshot came from the alley outside._

_Connor hadn’t saved him._

_Suddenly they were back in McGinty’s, him and Murphy, facing off with the Russians just as before. Rocco mouthed off, Connor and Murphy threw back their shots, and then the fighting began. Except something went wrong this time. One moment Murphy was fine, the next he was on the floor and not moving and where had that fucking knife in the Russian’s hand come from and Jesus Christ was that blood soaking through the front of Murphy’s sweater?_

_By the time Connor could get to him, he was already gone._

_Then Connor was perched on the balcony, ready to drop the toilet on the Russian bastard’s head, but when he looked down all he could see was his brother, just as Checkov pulled the trigger and sent a bullet through Murphy’s head._

* * *

 

Connor jerked awake, a choked gasp coming out of his mouth. He looked wildly around the flat before his eyes focused on the mattress across from him, where Murphy lay, sound asleep and snoring and perfectly all right.

A dream. It had just been a dream. And one that the twins apparently hadn’t shared, for which Connor was grateful. His brother needed rest.

He sat up, running a hand over his face as he tried to calm his racing pulse, regulate his breathing. Murphy was fine. Checkov was dead. And Connor was being ridiculous. He’d never had a nightmare in his life, not even when they were kids - they’d plagued Murphy, but not him. So why the fuck had they started now?

Exhaling slowly, Connor reached over and lit himself a cigarette, taking a long drag and willing his muscles to relax. He knew why. Now that things were relatively quiet, his brain was getting the chance to deal with the shit that had happened that day. The day Connor had almost lost the only thing in the world he truly fucking cared about. He’d done his best to shove all those thoughts into the dark corners of his brain and leave them there, but apparently his best hadn’t been enough.

There was no way he’d be sleeping again tonight. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Murphy being thrown backwards by the bullet being sent through his brain...

Connor tried to recall what they’d done to help with Murphy’s nightmares when they were kids. The only thing that had ever worked, Connor remembered, was when Murphy clambered into bed next to his brother and fell asleep curled against him. Connor had always complained, called his twin a wuss, but he’d never really minded. Even as a kid, he’d have done anything to make sure Murphy was okay.

He sighed and frustratedly stubbed out his cigarette. They weren’t kids anymore, he couldn’t just climb into bed with his brother simply because of a nightmare - although the main thing that was stopping him from climbing onto the mattress next to Murphy was simply the fact that Connor didn’t want to disturb his sleep.

He should have realized that was a bit of an unattainable goal. Murphy stirred suddenly, rolling onto his side to face his brother, and muttered, “Jesus Christ, you’re fuckin’ loud when you get all broody. S’matter?”

“Nothin’. Go back to sleep.” Connor mentally kicked himself for waking Murphy, although it really couldn’t have been helped - even asleep, Murphy always knew when something was wrong with Connor, and vice versa.

“Bullshit.” Murphy had opened his eyes and was looking up at him blearily. “What’s up, Con?”

Connor chewed his lower lip, knowing that trying to hide anything from his twin was completely impossible, and said, “Nothin’, just a bad dream, is all.” He looked up, trying to keep his expression neutral.

Murphy held his gaze for a few moments, eyes wide and searching, before shifting over on his mattress and saying quietly, “C’mere.”

“Murph...”

“M’not gonna be able to sleep with you fuckin’ sulkin’ all night - you’re too loud.”

Connor finally gave in. “Fine. Just for tonight.”

“Would ya shut up and get over here?”

Without another word, Connor moved over and shuffled down beside Murphy. Murphy promptly pulled the blanket over the both of them and lay down again so that they were facing each other. Connor didn’t realize how tense he’d been until Murphy gently started massaging the muscles in his neck. “Christ, Con, what the fuck was that dream about? Feels like you’re gonna explode.”

Connor sighed, concentrating on the feeling of Murphy’s hand on his skin, Murphy’s breath ghosting across his face. He didn’t particularly want to talk about it,  but he knew Murphy wouldn’t let it go until he got an answer. “Checkov,” was all he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Murphy’s expression shifted, eyes filling with understanding. Connor had to admit, Murphy’s ability to essentially read his mind was pretty convenient sometimes. Silently, Murphy pulled him closer and nestled into him, resting his head between Connor’s neck and shoulder. Connor didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around his twin and bury his face in Murphy’s hair, taking comfort in the way he could feel Murphy’s heart beating against his own chest.

“I was more scared then than I’d ever been in my life,” Connor whispered. He would have hated being this open with anyone else, but there were no secrets between the two of them. Connor wasn’t afraid to let his guard down when it was just his brother and him.

“Oh really? What about the time we got caught smokin’ when we were ten?”

Connor lightly swatted the back of Murphy’s head, and the sound of Murphy’s chuckle lifted a weight off his chest. “M’serious, you fucker.”

“I know. Just don’t want you dwellin’ on it, is all.” He looked up at Connor. “It’s over and done with, Connor, and we both came out all right, just like we always do.”

“Aye...” Connor sighed. “But what if a day comes when we don’t?”

“We’ll deal with that day when it comes, then. If it comes.” Murphy reached up and ran a hand through Connor’s hair and along his jaw, fingertips trailing over the stubble there. “Right now we’re okay, though.” He brushed his lips against Connor’s and whispered, “Now get some sleep or I’ll push ya off the roof.”

“I’d like to see you try, _little_ brother.”

“Fuck you, y’know I’m the older one.” Murphy poked at his ribs.

“Just shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”

Murphy muttered something about Connor being a bastard, but he laid back down on Connor’s chest and didn’t speak again. Within minutes, he started snoring.

Connor smiled a little to himself, glad he hadn’t interrupted Murphy’s slumber for too long. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get back to sleep himself, but gradually he felt himself drifting off, the sound of Murphy’s snoring and the steady beat of his pulse beneath Connor’s hand lulling Connor into unconsciousness.

There were no more nightmares that night.

* * *

 

The next several nights passed in much the same way. They would go to sleep in separate beds, but Connor, without fail, would be jolted awake by dreams in which he lost his brother. Sometimes he dreamt that Yakavetta had shot Murphy instead of Rocco, that night in the basement. Other times he dreamt that one of the Russians in Copley Plaza managed to get off a single but deadly shot before either of the brothers could react. Once he even dreamt that Rocco accidentally hit Murphy instead of the fucking cat.

Generally, though, the dreams were variations on that day in the alley, or the barfight the night before. Not that the setting mattered - they all ended the same way: with Connor losing Murphy.

Every night, when these dreams woke Connor up panting and sweating and reaching for the gun he kept on the nightstand (because he’d be damned if there were any repeats of the Checkov incident), Murphy would stir and slide over to make room for his brother in his own bed, sometimes without even waking up.

And Connor would lay down next to his brother and pull Murphy close, letting his the warmth from his twin’s body envelope him, and after a while he stopped feeling the impulse to check for Murphy’s pulse every few seconds. Sooner or later he’d fall back asleep, and wasn’t troubled by nightmares for the remainder of the night.

Somewhere along the line, without even talking about it, they simultaneously decided to avoid the nightmares altogether by not even bothering with separate mattresses. And it worked. Connor didn’t wake up until almost noon the next day.

The first time their Da spent the night at the flat, they considered going back to individual beds, if only so they didn’t have to explain their sleeping arrangements to their father, but one shared glance and they decided it was preferable to have Da asking questions than the alternative.

In the end, Da didn’t say anything about it at all - he didn’t even look surprised when Connor stretched out next to Murphy, who was already out, and wrapped an arm around him. Still, Connor felt the need to clear one thing up, whether his father was wondering about it or not. “We’re not fuckin’ or anythin’.” Sex had never held much appeal for either of them - which was probably for the best, as their relationship was already far past the boundaries of normal brotherhood, and they weren’t sure the Lord would see fit to overlook any relations of a carnal nature. “We just sleep better this way, is all.” And that was all the explanation he offered.

* * *

 

When they relocated to Ireland - about three months after executing Yakavetta - the twins didn’t even bother setting up two beds in their room. At that point, the idea of sleeping alone was completely unfathomable. Connor felt like sleeping without one of his limbs attached would be easier. Even after they determined that nightmares were no longer an issue - Connor had a tendency to fall asleep on the sofa on Sunday afternoons, and he was never troubled by bad dreams - they stayed together.

One night, while they were laying in bed, Connor said suddenly, “You’ll tell me to fuck off if ya ever get tired of sharin’ a bed, right?”

Murphy glanced up. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Connor gave a half shrug, idly playing with his brother’s hair. “I dunno. Just...no more bad dreams. So it’s not like ya need to-”

“Hey, shut it.” Murphy smacked his shoulder. “D’you think I’d still be sleepin’ with ya if I didn’t like it?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if ya just felt obligated...”

“Fuckin’ idiot.”

“Oh shut up.”

“Make me, why don’t ya?”

Connor hit him in the face with the pillow, which led to Murphy kicking him in the shin, which led to a brief but energetic tussle that ended with Connor sprawled on top of his brother, grinning down at him, propping himself up with his forearms resting on the bed on either side of Murphy’s head.

“Face it, brother dear,” Murphy said, eyes bright with exhiliration and love, “you’re stuck with me as a bunkmate whether you like it or not.” He grasped the front of Connor’s shirt and pulled him down for a kiss.

“’Tis a cross I’ll have to bear,” Connor said with a smirk, chuckling as Murphy cuffed the back of his head. He leaned down to touch their foreheads together and traced a finger along his brother’s lips. “M’kidding. Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Murphy grinned at him. “Me neither, Con. Me neither.”

* * *

 

Connor had always known they wouldn’t stay in Ireland forever. It was far too quiet on the farm - peaceful, yes, for which the brothers were grateful, but it was only a matter of time before they started getting restless.

Even so, it pained Connor to leave that life behind, return to modern day civilization. He’d grown used to it just being the three of them, him and Murphy and Da. And most days, it was more like just him and Murphy, since Da rarely left the house, while the boys spent most of their waking hours outside. Sometimes Connor felt like they were the only two people in the entire world, and that suited him just fine.

The thing that bothered him the most about having to go back to Boston was the knowledge that his physical relationship with Murphy would have to change, at least in public. On the farm, they’d grown accustomed to being able to be as physically intimate as they liked, but that would have to stop now.

At least it would still be possible to share a bed. Connor was grateful for that. He was pretty sure he’d lose his mind otherwise.

Their quarters on the ship were pretty removed from everyone else, which was good because it meant they didn’t have to be quite as careful. Connor was able to reach over and ruffle Murphy’s hair or hug him from behind whenever he wanted to, and Murphy regularly leaned over and kissed him in the middle of a conversation.

He should’ve known it was too good to last. Once Romeo had found them, virtually all opportunities for intimacy were gone. Romeo was lucky that both the boys liked him - otherwise Connor wouldn’t have thought twice about punching him out simply so he and Murphy could be alone again.

Finally Romeo left, saying he’d talk to them in the morning, and Connor practically dragged Murphy back to their space. When he was sure they were alone, he wrapped his arms around his brother’s waist and pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his neck. “I miss bein’ able to this whenever I want.”

“Me too.” Murphy rubbed his back. “And it’s not gonna get any easier once we get back to Boston.”

“Aye.” Connor sighed. He often wondered if things would be easier if he and Murphy weren’t related. If they’d be able to be more open about their relationship in public if they weren’t each other’s flesh and blood.

Those thoughts were always followed by the absolute certainty that Connor wouldn’t give up having Murphy as a brother for anything in the world. It would be like giving up part of himself. So while Connor hated the forced discretion while they were around other people, he didn’t complain, because apart from that things were perfect just the way they were.

“We should get some sleep,” Connor said softly.

“Well, isn’t that just like ya? Always tryin’ to get me into bed,” Murphy joked, earning himself a swat.

“Shut your trap or I’ll make ya sleep outside.”

It was an empty threat, and they both knew it. Murphy let Connor climb into the hammock first before flopping on top of him, nuzzling his face in Connor’s chest. Connor rolled his eyes. During their time in Ireland, Murphy had essentially become a human cat whenever they were resting together (Connor refused to call it “cuddling”). Not that Connor minded. He liked having Murphy nestled against him like this - it was where he belonged, and, frankly, the only time Connor ever really stopped worrying about his brother’s safety.

He’d have to start worrying about Murphy’s safety a lot more again, now that they were returning to their old lives. Lives where they were hunted and shot at every day, where they got into physical fights on a regular basis and the cops were following their every move. That had been Connor’s favorite thing about Ireland - nobody was actively trying to kill his brother.

“You’ve gone broody again,” Murphy mumbled, his voice muffled by Connor’s shirt.

“Just...thinkin’ about what’ll happen once we get to Boston.”

“S’pose that depends on Romeo. Now that we’re workin’ together and all. ’Course, I wouldn’t say no to a shot or two at McGinty’s.”

“You never say no to a shot anywhere.”

“Look at the pot callin’ the kettle black.”

“Ya may have a point there.”

“‘Course I do.” Murphy looked up and pecked him on the lips. “Now stop with the fuckin’ meditatin’ so we can both get some shuteye.”

Connor rolled his eyes and kissed him back. “Fine. Just so long as you keep the snorin’ to a fuckin’ minimum.”

* * *

 

Romeo was all right. He wasn’t like Rocco, he didn’t grate on Connor’s nerves and make him want to throw things, but he was _always there_. Connor had wanted to just get a room at a motel, but Romeo had insisted they just crash at his place. Which meant no alone time with Murphy. During the day, Connor could handle that, but he’d gotten so used to sharing a bed that the idea of sleeping alone was completely foreign to him at this point.

The first night or two, there were no nightmares, which was something, he supposed. He still didn’t sleep well, but that was simply because he wasn’t used to not having a warm body to wrap himself around.

The night that Greenly died, though...Connor should have expected it. Between that and almost losing Da and the memories he associated with jumping off buildings...

He had enough trouble falling back asleep after the dream about Rocco, but eventually he did. In hindsight, he wished he’d just stayed awake.

* * *

 

_Connor gave the rope tied around Murphy’s waist a final check and peered over the edge of the scaffolding. He locked eyes with his brother, the two of them exchanging a firm, reassuring gaze, one that seemed to say,_ We’ll be fine, we’re together.

_And then they jumped._

_For a few moments, all Connor felt was exhiliration as the wind whipped past his face. This wasn’t like the last time he’d leaped from a building, this was like fucking flying._

_Then there was a sickening snapping noise._

_When Connor looked up, all he could see was his brother’s rope breaking in two._

_Frantic, he swung towards Murphy, reaching forward to grab him and hold him, because he would not allow this to happen, he wouldn’t, but his timing was just a little bit off, and he only succeeded in grasping the tail of Murphy’s coat before even that slipped through his fingers._

_Murphy fell._

_Everything went dark._

* * *

 

Connor almost fell off the couch when he was jolted out of sleep, scrambling to keep his balance and trying not to cry out. His cheeks felt damp; he swiped at the tears that had managed to escape from the corners of his eyes and turned around to look at Murphy, who was curled up in the armchair he’d pulled next to the couch. Connor had always envied his twin’s ability to sleep in what looked like the most uncomfortable positions - there had been more than a few times back in Ireland when Murphy had literally fallen asleep standing up, leaning against a wall or fence post for support.

Ireland. Connor winced as a pang of homesickness wracked his chest. He wanted to go back. He wanted to go back to the farm, where he had Murphy to himself and nobody was trying to kill them and there was no need to court death by jumping from buildings. He wanted to go back to where he knew they were safe, where he knew Murph was safe.

He stood up and stretched, knowing it would be pointless to try and go back to sleep. Connor settled back on the sofa, hugging his knees to his chest and watching Murphy breathe until the sun rose.

* * *

 

The first night in prison was the hardest.

Connor and Murphy spent that night in the infirmary, each of them handcuffed to separate beds. If Connnor tried hard enough, he could just manage to reach over and wrap his fingers around Murphy’s wrist, but that was it, and it wasn’t enough.

They both dozed for most of the night, Murphy finally falling into a deep sleep around four in the morning. Connor tried to sleep too, but whenever he did, there were images of Murphy being riddled with bullets or falling to his death, and after losing Da Connor absolutely could not take the thought of losing his brother too. So he spent most of the night either on the verge of unconsciousness or concentrating on counting the beats of Murphy’s pulse.

They spent most of the next day in the infirmary too, and Connor worried that he’d have to spend yet another night separated from his brother. But apparently the Almighty had been listening to his prayers, because right after dinnertime, he and Murph were escorted to their cell and their cuffs were removed.

The second the cell door closed, Connor wrapped his arms around Murphy and clung. Murph clung back, muttering, “Don’t know about you, but I’m fuckin’ exhausted.”

Connor had to chuckle, although there was very little humor behind it. He pressed his face into the crook of Murphy’s neck and said, “Bed?”

“Bed.”

Connor promptly flopped down onto the lower bunk and pulled Murphy down on top of him, all the tension that had been building up in his body over the past few days finally disappearing. He’d worry about the whole being-in-prison-by-criminals-who-wanted-them-dead issue in the morning; for right now, he was too tired to do anything but bury his face in the top of Murphy’s head and fall asleep instantly.

Both of them slept soundly through the night.


End file.
